


break me, make me

by seiseijoh



Series: a level of trust [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Choking, Come Eating, Coming Untouched, Consensual Non-Consent, Crying, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom!Iwaizumi, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facials, Finger Sucking, Fisting, Healthy Communication, Healthy Relationships, Humiliation, I'm sorry there are so many tags, Kinda, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Spitroasting, Threats of Violence, Top!Iwaizumi, all of my smut ends up pretty wholesome somehow, also a hint of gaslighting, because if there is then suga is very much into it, bottom!suga, but a lot happens, but it's dealt with immediately, daichi and kuroo feature for a hot second, dom!Oikawa, is there a kink for wanting to be full of dick, just for some light humour, oikawa's the one with the praise kink but he's praising suga who's kinda into it, or is it suprising, reiterating that there is no actual non con, sub!suga, suprisingly wholesome ending, technically they're all switches/verse but that's outside the scope of this particular fic, there is a singular instance of something that could be construed as victim blaming, there's so much crying in this, this is entirely consensual, top!oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiseijoh/pseuds/seiseijoh
Summary: Suga has a very specific fantasy in mind and his boyfriends agree to fulfil it for himaka Suga gets absolutely and thoroughly wrecked
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Series: a level of trust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120967
Comments: 26
Kudos: 290
Collections: Overstim Smut, expressions of love





	break me, make me

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh don’t ask me what this is idk okay all i can say is that i was so consumed with the idea for this fic that i wrote it in a couple days, including in the break room at work and let me tell you, making sure no one looked over my shoulder was s t r e s s f u l
> 
> this technically takes place within my i hate you (i’ve got you) series, but you definitely don’t need to have read those or anything like that, there's nothing linking them or anything. i mean, if you like matsuhana, you should read the series, but you don’t need to lmao
> 
> (speaking of that series, i am working on the next one, it’s just being a pain :/)

“Would you guys hurt me?”

It's not really a question for six AM, Suga belatedly thinks, when the three of them are struggling to wake up in order to get to classes and work on time. He also realises he’s phrased the question badly anyway when both of his boyfriends stare at him in shock.

“Koushi,” Iwaizumi says, his voice low and gritty from sleep as he looks up from his hunched position at the kitchen table, coffee mug clutched in both hands. “Of course not.”

“Why would you feel like you need to ask that?” Oikawa asks, the hurt clear in the crease of his brow and the hitch of his breath. He ignores the beep of the coffee machine and steps closer to Suga. “Has something happened? Are you okay?”

“No, no, I'm fine, everything's fine,” Suga rushes to assure them. “I don't mean it like that, I...”

He scrubs a hand over his face. He’s not even sure what made him blurt the question out when he’s been keeping it to himself for weeks. But the cat's half out of the bag now, and it’s certainly not going back in. He sighs.

“Would you hurt me... like, _really_ hurt me... if I wanted you to?”

Oikawa's confused. He glances at Iwaizumi for the answer, and he has it – the man nods, realisation dawning in his eyes.

“Do you mean in a kinky sense?”

Suga nods, biting his lip.

“Oh,” Oikawa says, and then – “ _Oh_.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, returning to his coffee. “We can talk about it, sure. What exactly did you have in mind?”

Suga wants to feel relieved that they’re receptive to the idea, but they still don’t know what he _actually_ wants, and he really, really doesn’t think they'll give it to him. But he can only ask, and he trusts them enough to not judge him too harshly; after all, they’ve indulged – and enjoyed – Iwaizumi's spanking kink and Oikawa's obsession with being both praised and degraded. So, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I want you to make me do things.”

“What kind of things?” Oikawa asks, finally retrieving his coffee from the machine. He leans against the counter, head cocked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Suga says. “I... the point is, I want you to _make_ me. I want to say no, and you make me do it anyway.”

Oikawa opens his mouth to say something, but falls flat. It's Iwaizumi that fills the silence, humming in acknowledgement before asking carefully, “You have ideas?”

Suga nods, and hesitantly begins to describe the fantasy that’s been dogging him for weeks now. He doesn’t give details, because those change every time he thinks about it. They’re not important. The overarching ‘plot’ is what he wants, and what he describes for his boyfriends now, face heating up as he plays awkwardly with his hands.

When he's finished, Iwaizumi looks in Oikawa's direction, and they share a glance. Suga swallows hard.

“You really want us to do that to you?” Oikawa asks – his tone isn’t judgemental but rather lost, trying to understand.

“Only if you want to, obviously,” Suga says. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m fine if it never happens. I just... it’s something I’ve been thinking about and... if you would be okay with it...”

Oikawa cracks a smile. “Aww, Kou-chan's never usually so nervous!”

“Tooru, don’t tease him,” Iwaizumi says with a soft smile. Then he turns to face Suga and adds, “We can talk about it properly later? I'm not really functional enough right now, nor do we have enough time for a conversation like that.”

“Sooo,” Suga draws out the word, pursing his lips, “it's not a no?”

“It's a ‘I'm not going to say yes to something like that off the bat’,” Iwaizumi says with a roll of his eyes. “It needs to be discussed at length; I’ve got work in an hour and you two have classes, which we're all going to be late for if we don't get a move on.”

Oikawa smiles and, sugar-sweet, giggles, “Of course, _Daddy_.”

Iwaizumi smacks his hand down on the table, glares at him. “What the fuck did I tell you?”

Oikawa starts to respond, but Suga beats him to it. “You told him not to call you that, but you got so _red_ and _flustered_ , surely you didn't mean it, _Daddy_.”

Last night Oikawa, face pressed into the mattress, legs shaking and out of his mind, had let the name slip when Iwaizumi had finally sunk into him after an hour of teasing. Suga had seen the way Iwaizumi had shuddered, the panic and _want_ in his eyes even as he’d groaned, “Shut the fuck _up_.” Now, still mad and maybe slightly turned on, a blushing Iwaizumi returns to his coffee and mutters, “The more you say it, the less inclined I am to give either of you anything you want.”

Suga laughs. He saunters over to Iwaizumi and wraps his arms around his shoulders from behind. He presses a kiss into his hair and grimaces.

“Ugh, you’re all crunchy.”

“I didn’t wash my hair last night, so yesterday’s gel is still there.”

“Gross,” Oikawa gags. “All your hair is going to fall out, and then you’re going to look like an old man. I can’t date an old man, Iwa-chan.”

“Don't worry,” Iwaizumi quips with a smirk. “I'll shave your hair off to match.”

Oikawa shrieks, and Suga laughs.

* * *

They don’t get the chance to talk about it for another few days, with work and classes and other such things keeping the three of them busy. But eventually they manage to find a night where they’re all free, and Iwaizumi invites them over to his apartment so he can cook dinner and they can take all the time they need to discuss. Iwaizumi and Oikawa aren’t about to just jump into a scene like that, and Suga doesn’t want them to, even if the conversation they end up having is a little embarrassing. It’s hard, when what he wants isn’t exactly ‘normal’. It’s not the weirdest kink out there by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s not quite so mainstream as Oikawa’s need to be praised or Iwaizumi’s apparent fascination with being called daddy – which he still won’t admit to, no matter how much they tease and prod at him. But they talk it out, they don’t judge him – and by the end of the night, Suga has an answer to his question.

Would they hurt him?

They’re damn well going to try.

* * *

Suga swears as he drops his apartment keys, and bends down to grab them. The box wedged under his arm starts to slip but he catches it, crushes it more firmly with his elbow and straightens with keys in hand. He wonders what Daichi’s ordered – it’s fairly light, and he’d mentioned the other week about one of his favourite clothing retailers having a sale, so he can only assume that’s what it is. Not that it’s any of his business. But Suga is nothing if not inquisitive, and he’s in the middle of trying to remember when Daichi finishes work so he can watch him open it when a shadow envelops him.

One moment, he’s staring blankly at the keys in his hand while he thinks, and the next, his back’s against the wall with a firm hand on his shoulder keeping him there, a figure looming into his personal space. Suga’s a little ashamed of the squeak that’s driven from his lungs at impact, and his hand hurts as it clenches reflexively around his keys. He inhales, ready to begin tearing into whoever’s just grabbed him, but pauses when he realises who it is.

“Hajime,” he says, the tension leaving his body. “What are you –”

Iwaizumi braces his forearm against the wall by Suga’s head and cuts him off, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here on your own?”

Suga frowns. Iwaizumi doesn’t usually talk to him like this, and certainly doesn’t just come out of nowhere and throw him around…

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow – a question.

_Is this okay?_

It’s been over a week since they talked, and Suga’s been waiting so very patiently. He swallows, nods slightly.

 _Yes_.

“I appreciate the compliment,” he says, breath trembling, “but I’m just trying to get into my apartment. And I don’t make a habit of talking to strangers.”

Iwai – the man – smiles, predatory and sharp, and Suga’s knees buckle.

“Why don’t you invite me in then? We can get to know each other. No need to be strangers.”

Suga shakes his head and twists just enough to get the key in the lock. As he opens the door, he drops Daichi’s package and quickly ducks under the other’s arm, saying in a rush, “No, thank you.”

He nearly gets the door closed. But a foot wedges itself between the door and frame, the _thunk_ sounding louder than it should in the quiet hallway. Heart racing, Suga stumbles back. His keys fall from his fingers but he barely even notices, focused solely on the man entering the apartment. Behind him, there’s movement – another man follows, his smile smug as he balances the box Suga had dropped in one hand. Suga’s heart plummets, heavy in his stomach, feet frozen to the floor.

The second man throws the box unceremoniously onto the nearby couch, before draping himself over the first’s shoulders. “He’s such a pretty one,” he says, never taking his bright, calculating eyes off Suga’s face. “Do you think he’ll be good for us?”

The first man shakes his friend off, takes a step forward. The movement unsticks Suga – he stumbles back another pace before turning and running. The second man’s laughter rings in his ears as he bolts for his bedroom. He skids into the room, slams the door shut behind him and throws himself against it to keep it that way. He looks around frantically for something to block the door with, but doesn’t have time to do anything; an intense weight on the other side flings it0 open and Suga onto the floor. He recovers quickly, scrambling onto the bed before twisting to face the intruders.

“It’s rude to treat guests like this, kitten,” the first man says, and heat starts to rapidly build in Suga’s face, his belly.

“Fuck you,” he spits.

The man moves quickly – reaches out faster than Suga can comprehend, grabs his ankle and yanks him hard. Suga slips, collapsing on his back as he’s dragged. He kicks, fights, even as the second man wrestles his hands above his head and pins them there.

Fear seizes at Suga’s chest, makes it hard to breathe as he looks between the two strangers he’s trapped beneath. The one at his feet settles on the bed and leans forward, reaching for Suga’s hips. As soon as his ankle is released, Suga flashes into action – jerking his knees up, catching the man on the chin before he shoves him back with both feet to the chest, and writhing all the while to try and rip his hands free from the other’s grasp.

“Let go of me!”

He hears something akin to a growl, and all the heated blood rushing through him seems to instantly freeze. His heart stutters against his ribs as the first man, with gritted teeth, pulls himself forward and pins his legs down with his weight. The anger in his dark, clouded green eyes is the last thing Suga sees before his head snaps to the side, and pain erupts in his face.

It takes Suga a moment to realise he’s been slapped. _Hard_. He can taste copper on his tongue and when he licks over his bottom lip, he realises it’s split. His cheek stings as the man grabs his chin, forces him to look back at him. Tears well at the pain, the shock. The other’s face swims in his vision.

“You’re going to stop fighting. You’re going to be nice and quiet and let us do what we like, or we’re going to hurt you. Do you understand me?”

The rough grit of his voice has Suga throbbing, aching. He blinks the tears away and whispers, “Please, let me go.”

“It’ll be over faster if you don’t fight,” the second man says, stroking Suga’s cheek soothingly.

Suga looks up at him, at his cruel little smile and hungry eyes. For a split-second, the man’s gaze softens and he mouths silently, “Green?”

Suga nods once, and gives him a thumbs up for good measure. But he doesn’t have the chance to see Oikawa’s reaction, because he’s suddenly dragged right back in when he feels hands pawing at his jeans, undoing them, tugging at them roughly. Suga jerks his hips back, shaking his head.

“No,” he begs. “Stop... please don’t hurt me…”

“The less you put up a fuss, the less it’ll hurt.”

The first man works quickly to get his jeans off, struggling for a moment with his shoes. Suga squirms weakly. The fear and helplessness are doing weird things to him – his heart’s racing, every muscle tense, and he wants to pull away from the hands that are exposing him. But he’s also on _fire_ , core burning, blood flowing hot with desire, with need.

“Hey,” the man by his head says. “Maybe we should tie him up. Make him easier to handle.”

The other grunts and, after a moment’s contemplation, unbuckles his belt and yanks it free. Suga’s hands shake as they’re brought down over his head and the rest of his clothes are stripped off. With a few loops, the belt is fashioned into something akin to handcuffs and tightened around his wrists.

“Stop…”

“See, you’re saying that,” the man who’s just restrained him says with a smirk, “but you _clearly_ don’t mean it.”

He wraps a hand around Suga’s half-hard dick, threateningly tight. Suga gasps. The second man’s fingers run through his hair as he laughs, “And who would we be if we got you all riled up and then didn’t do anything about it?”

“You got lube somewhere, kitten?”

Suga nods, teary-eyed, and gestures with his head towards the bedside table. The first man retrieves it from the top drawer, and the crack of the lid makes Suga flinch. The pair manhandle him into position, put him on his knees on the floor between the second man’s legs. Fingers curl into his hair and direct him to look up. The man’s pretty, dangerously pretty, all sharp angles and gleaming teeth as he smiles.

The other man crowds at his back, hands hot and tight on his hips and chin resting on his shoulder.

“You bite,” he says, “and I’ll knock your teeth out. Understand?”

A shudder rips through Suga, tearing a gasp from him as he nods.

The hands disappear – all of them, the ones on his hips and the ones in his hair. Suga blinks back tears as the pretty one unzips and frees his dick. He threads his fingers back into Suga’s hair and smiles.

“Open up.”

He tries, but it’s like his jaw’s locked tight. He swallows, grits his teeth, shakes his head.

“Come on, kitten,” the man at his back says, “Do as you’re told.”

“I thought you didn’t want us to hurt you?” the other adds.

When they don’t get an answer or the reaction they want, the man at his back sighs, and the one on the edge of the bed hums, “Looks like he’s still got some fight left.”

From behind, thick fingers press at Suga’s lips. He clenches his jaw, pulls back, but it only brings him against the other’s chest. A sharp pain bursts in his side as the man pinches him just under his ribcage and he cries out.

Suga’s always had a lax gag reflex, and he’s always jokingly prided himself on being able to take dick like no other. But when he’s shoved onto the pretty man’s dick, they don’t give him even a second to adjust. They force him to take it all in one swift move, and so his throat spasms around it and he gags violently. He jolts back, struggles – he can’t breathe, his chest hurts from trying – but the fingers remain tight in his hair, just holding him in place. Strong hands on his hips pin him as he thrashes. Just as he’s reaching for the pretty man’s leg to squeeze and call for a break, his head is yanked back – painfully so, further back than it needs to go, but his airway is clear now and that’s all his oxygen-starved brain wants. He heaves in a loud, harsh breath, sobs.

The hands in his hair slide down to cup his face, thumbs rubbing across the tear tracks on his cheeks. He’s light-headed, dizzy, it hurts to breathe. He blinks, trying to focus on the face above him.

“Do you want me to do that again?”

Suga shakes his head, moans, “No… please…”

“Then you need to do as you’re told, sweetheart.”

“I-I’m trying,” he protests hoarsely.

The reply comes with a sigh. “Not hard enough.”

“I told you; you don’t fight, and we won’t hurt you,” the man at his back says. A cold, slick finger suddenly presses, rubs, startling a gasp out of Suga’s raw throat. “I don’t have to be nice and prep you. Would you rather I just fuck you now? Split you open while you choke on his cock?”

Suga trembles, shakes his head furiously. “No, no, no, please, I’ll be good, I swear…”

The pretty man tips Suga’s head up with one hand under his chin, the other carding through his hair. “What exactly are you going to do to be good, hmm?”

“I-I…”

“Tell me, sweetheart. What are you going to do?”

Suga’s face _burns_. Heat radiates from every pore. His lip and cheek still sting, and maybe they’re going to bruise. The pain from the pinched skin under his ribs is taking its time to uncomfortably dissipate. He swallows, sore, and stammers, “I-I’m gonna… I’m gonna suck your cock, sir.”

“Sir?” the pretty, pretty man says with an amused smile.

Suga’s eyes widen and he cringes back. “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”

“No, I like it.” He shifts his feet a little further apart. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

Suga inhales, closes his eyes, and wrenches opens his mouth. Both hands return to his hair and drag him back onto his dick. It’s not kind, but it is gentler this time. He doesn’t let Suga set his own pace, moving him with fingers tight against his scalp, and he still makes him take him as far down his throat as he can, but he doesn’t trigger Suga’s gag reflex, doesn’t choke him. Suga relaxes as much as he can to make it easier, keeps his eyes closed and drifts. Spit overflows his lips and onto the floor, and the cock is hot and thick on his tongue, but he doesn’t think about it. He thinks about his boyfriends – there’s a twinge of panic, that they’d be angry at him for letting these men touch him like this. But it’s smothered quickly by the knowledge they’d be proud of him for doing what he has to in order to stay safe. He’s doing what the men want so they don’t hurt him. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault he’s having to regulate his breathing so he doesn’t suffocate on the cock down his throat, and it’s not his fault that the man at his back shoves two fingers in so suddenly that he clenches reflexively, tightly around them.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi will understand.

Suga’s eyes fly open at the intrusion, but they flutter closed again quickly. He forces himself to relax, lets the man scissor him open without a hint of a complaint. Not that he really can complain with his mouth as occupied as it is. The man makes him take three, and then four before he’s ready, but at least he’s using lube. The stretch burns, but he’s going to fuck him and it’ll be over. He can do this.

But the four fingers stay longer than he expects, and then he feels the pressure of his thumb, tucked against his palm, and Suga panics. He jolts, hips jerking away – he’s hard, desperate, dripping; when did that happen? – and tries to pull off the other’s man’s dick. The hands in his hair keep him down, hold him still with his throat full for a few seconds, and then mercifully lift his head clear. Thick strands of spit and precome hang between his dick and Suga’s lips, snapping obscenely when Suga shakes his head and starts to beg.

“Please, no…”

“Hmm?” The pretty man smiles.

The man behind Suga keeps stretching him around four, but doesn’t try to curl his thumb in again as Suga trembles.

“I-I can’t…” he says, tears filling his eyes. “Just fuck me…”

The man leans forward, chest to Suga’s back. His breath is hot against his ear as he asks, “Are you telling me what to do?”

Suga whimpers. “N-No, I’m sorry, I-I…”

“You should put him back on your dick. Keeps him quiet,” the man says, and the pretty one laughs.

His thumb returns, just the tip sliding in. It’s bordering on too much right now and Suga knows how much more the man wants him to take. He _can’t_. Fear surges in his chest; it feels like his ribs are imploding, crushing his lungs and racing heart.

“Please, I’ve never… I can’t, I can’t do it, please don’t…” he sobs.

“You’re lying to me,” the man says.

Suga cries, “No! No, I swear! I’ve never done it, I swear, please, don’t make me take it, I can’t take it, ple-ease.” His voice cracks on another sob.

The pretty one twirls a lock of Suga’s hair around his finger. “I think he’s telling the truth. I don’t think he’s done it before.”

“Maybe,” the other concedes. “But he can take it. He’s _going_ to take it.”

“No!” is all Suga is able to get out before he’s silenced by a cock in his mouth again. He struggles, but it only earns him another sharp pinch to the side, making him yelp. The hand pushes in further, opening him up to take it at its widest point. Suga cries out, hips juddering, but he can’t escape it. He’s _going_ to take it.

He thinks he can’t take anymore – and then it’s in. There’s a sharp burn as the knuckle stretches him further than he’s been stretched before, and then it’s in, and the burn starts to fade slowly into a deep-seated ache.

“Look at that,” the man says. “You _can_ take it.”

“And so well,” the pretty one says. “He’s being so good for us, just like he said he would.”

The man behind him chuckles and bites at Suga’s earlobe. As he does, he curls his fingers – slowly, carefully, but the movement makes his knuckles brush over Suga’s prostate, and despite now having an entire fist inside him, it’s the first time he’s been touched there since they started and Suga moans around the other’s cock, back arching and eyelids fluttering. He’s so hot, all over – he feels like the hands on him, in him, must be suffering third degree burns with how his whole body is just a raging bonfire.

“That feel good, kitten?” The words are breathed into his neck, his jaw, flames across his skin. “You like being full?”

Suga tries to nod, but it’s hard with a throatful of cock. Both men laugh. The fist inside him twitches, moves in time with the laughter, and grazes Suga’s prostate again. Suga moans again, watery eyes rolling back at the sensation, and then suddenly he’s coming, all over himself and the floor. It takes him by surprise, and his hips twitch weakly, uselessly, with the aftershocks.

“Oh, look at you. You _really_ like being full, hey, kitten?”

He’s pulled off the pretty man’s dick, head lolling and heavy in his hands. His vision is a little blurry, but Suga can kind of make out his smirk.

“You know we’re not done yet, right?”

Suga manages a nod. Neither of them have come yet. His body will make them come, and _then_ it’ll all be over.

“Good boy. Now, keep being good, okay? I’m going to fuck your pretty little throat, and you’re going to let me, and then when I come, you’re going to drink it all down, understand?”

“Yessir,” Suga slurs.

The fist is still inside him, rocking just slightly against his prostate, and it makes him whine. It's so much, but there’s a part of him that craves it, craves the fullness of his mouth and ass being stuffed. He tilts his hips back against it, seeking more, but when the pretty man puts him back on his dick, the hand slides out of him, stretching him painfully around the knuckle of his thumb again. Suga winces even as he whines at the sudden emptiness.

“Can't get enough?” The teasing voice is at his ear, teeth on his earlobe again. “Filthy. What are your boyfriends going to think of you?”

The thought distracts Suga long enough for him to be surprised when the man fills him again, this time with his dick. He pitches forward under the weight, groans. The man’s big; not as big as his fist but it’s enough, its something inside him when he’s desperate for it.

There's no rhythm when they start fucking him. Just jerky, awkward movements as they use the body between them. But it doesn’t take long for them to find one, and soon enough Suga is forcing himself to relax again, focused only on keeping his throat open and loose for the pretty man to fuck. He tries to keep his hips at just the right angle, but the man behind him has a tight grip of them and holds him where he wants, so he stops caring and just works on not gagging.

He doesn’t pay attention to time passing. It doesn’t matter. They'll use him until they’re done, and there's nothing he can do about it. Eventually, the man behind him swears under his breath, his thrusts losing rhythm again, and then he slams his hips hard against the curve of Suga's ass and comes. He lays against his back for a few moments, breathing hard, then smirks – Suga can feel it, trailing up his neck before he leans back. Something else touches his neck, and Suga whimpers wetly as he realises its the man's hand, curling around - not to choke, just a firm pressure.

“Fuck,” the pretty man exhales. One hand is tangled in Suga's hair, the other presumably propping himself up as his hips snap forward, again and again. “Can you feel that?”

The hand squeezes, just enough to feel the way Suga's throat bulges around the cock filling it. Suga's eyes roll back as the other man says, “Yeah. Kitten can too, can't he?”

Suga whimpers again, a soft, choked sound. Soon. They’re almost done. It'll be over soon.

“I'm surprised you haven’t come yet.”

“I'm – _fuck_ ,” the pretty man hisses, “I'm gonna...”

Suga's ready to be good, to drink it all down. But as his mouth is flooded, the other man tightens his grip around his neck. The sudden pressure interrupts, and Suga chokes. No one stops him from pulling back and coughing violently, struggling to breathe as the last of the release he was supposed to swallow ends up painted across his face.

When he’s able to inhale properly, breathing ragged, he realises the man behind him has him by the hips again, nails digging into his skin. He looks up at the pretty one – to an expression of disappointment. He freezes.

“Oh, you were doing so well,” he says, cupping Suga's face with both hands. “But you promised you’d be good, and you weren’t.”

Suga shakes his head, dizzy. It's hard to talk; his jaw aches so badly, and he’s sure he's slurring most of his words. “N-No, I was... I was good, sir, please...”

“I told you to swallow everything, and look at you.” He drags his thumbs over Suga's cheeks, through the come and spit coating his face. “I don’t think you swallowed any at all.”

“That's not...” Suga’s voice trembles as tears start to well, spill over. “... please, sir, it wasn't my fault...”

“Whose fault was it then?” the man behind him asks, dangerously low.

Suga sobs. He knows he can't answer truthfully, not without risking his anger. His lip still stings. “Please... don’t hurt me...”

“You didn’t do what we wanted,” the man says. “So we're going to have to punish you. And then we'll see if you can get it right.”

“ _No,_ ” Suga cries, collapsing forward as every muscle in his body gives up. He's dragged back upright, and then off the floor and onto the bed. He’s conscious of the fact that he's sobbing, his body shaking intensely under their hands, and he wants to get control of himself, but control is just out of reach. He tries to breathe, but his chest heaves and shudders. He tries to ground himself, tries to stay within the confines of his body by focusing on what he can feel; come leaking down his thighs, dull pain in his knees from the floor and his wrists from the belt cinched tight around them. It helps a little. Something soft is rubbed over his face, cleaning off the mess – it’s not gentle, but it’s another sensation he can focus on.

“We’re really enjoying playing with you,” a voice says – the pretty one, he thinks. His eyes are closed and he can’t bring himself to open them. “Even if you’d been good, you know we weren’t through with you, right?”

Suga inhales sharply. He tries to think back, so he can tell them that they _promised_ , that they said it would be over if he was good. But when he does, he realises he was wrong. All they said was that they wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t fight, if he was good. They never said they’d stop.

How long are they going to play with him? Daichi's going to come home from work at some point, but he has no idea what time it is anymore, and more often than not Daichi stays back late anyway. They could be at this for hours. The thought terrifies him. The things they could do to him in those hours, the promises they could make him fail, the punishments they could dish out, the ways they could use his body again and again and again…

He doesn’t even realise what’s happening until a hand strokes across his shoulders firmly, and another tangles in his hair. He sucks in a deep, shaking breath and tries to take stock of the situation. He’s lying on his front with his hips across someone’s legs, and his upper torso and head pillowed in someone else’s lap. His own hands are crushed under his chest, while the hand in his hair rubs repetitively, soothingly, across his scalp.

“You still with us, kitten?”

Suga squirms, huffs out a whine.

“We’re going to play a quick game first, before I punish you for not doing what you were told. Okay?”

Suga nods, but fear grips at his lungs, makes his chest tight. He’s not in any state to be playing games; he can’t think straight, and who knows what they’re going to do to him if he doesn’t play it right?

“I need you to pick a colour for me. Green, yellow, or red?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to sink in. When it does, the tension goes out of him and it’s easier to breathe.

“Green,” he mumbles into someone’s clothed thigh – based on where the voices are coming from, it's Oikawa's lap he’s face-down in, and Iwaizumi's legs he’s laid across.

“Are you sure?”

Suga hums, nods.

“Alright,” Iwaizumi says, and rests a heavy hand on Suga’s ass. “I want you to count for me.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“How many?” the pretty man asks, absently playing with Suga’s hair. “We don’t want to break him yet.”

A beat, and then the man replies, “I think we’ll do fifteen.”

Suga tenses, hands in fists. Iwaizumi’s spanked him before, although Oikawa likes it more. He’s taken ten, fifteen, twenty before. He can do this. He can take this, and then… he doesn’t know what happens after. _See if you can get it right_. Are they going to fuck him again? Make him choke while he’s stretched around a fist, make him swallow while he’s taken from behind?

Whatever they want, he can do it. He _will_ do it.

He feels the pain before he hears the sharp crack, jerking him forward under the force. He cries out in surprise, then remembers to shout, “One!”

“Good,” the pretty man says, combing through his hair comfortingly. “Keep going.”

Suga’s not sure who he’s talking to. Another smack lands; it tears a desperate, "Two,” from his raw, aching throat.

Three, four, and five are close together, and he’s made to wait for six and seven. Eight is more heavy-handed, hard enough that Suga’s convinced it’s going to bruise. By nine, he can feel the man’s cock hardening rapidly against his stomach, his own twitching in interest. His ass and thighs are _burning_. The pretty man continues to pet him, encourage him.

“Ten!”

He’s not sure when he started crying again. But his tears are spilling over, soaking the pants his face is pressed into. Ten is at the crease of his thigh and ass, and the man squeezes harshly afterwards. It’s just like how Iwaizumi does it, the way he likes to grab and hold as he spanks them.

The next one _hurts_. Suga’s still thinking of Iwaizumi when cries out, “Eleven! Fuck, Daddy, I’m sorry!”

Twelve doesn’t come. He can feel the way the man freezes beneath him, even as his dick jumps against Suga's stomach, and he panics.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

He can take more, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to take his fifteen and be done with it so he can take whatever comes next. And when he doesn’t get a response, he’s afraid he’s just added to his punishment. He sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry,” and fights the urge to struggle. They want him to be pliant, to sit there and take it like a good boy. He can do that. But he can’t stop apologising, begging, desperate.

“Be quiet.”

Suga chokes on another sob, bites his lip so hard that where it’s split starts to bleed again.

“Were you apologising for not doing as you were told?”

Suga manages a questioning sound, pitched high in the back of his throat. The man slides his hand firmly over Suga’s thigh, his ass, the small of his back, and down again.

“You said ‘Daddy, I’m sorry’. Tell Daddy what you’re sorry for.”

Suga’s pretty sure that he’d collapse if he wasn’t already lying down. He moans, buries his face in the pretty man’s lap.

“Tell me, kitten. What are you sorry for? What didn’t you do?”

“I-I didn’t…” Suga grinds his hips against the man’s thigh. “I didn’t swallow, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

“Good boy. And that was your fault, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Did you think that if you apologised, I’d stop?”

Suga winces. “Please…”

“You’ve got four more to go. Don’t make me add to it.”

The sound of the smack is so, so loud in his ears. The bright pain dulls after a moment, mingles in with the rest of the ache in his lower half. “Twelve,” he gasps.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” the pretty man soothes.

“Thirteen!” He’s hitting harder, with bruising strength, and it doesn’t feel good anymore. It just hurts. They’re almost done.

“We can get back to playing after this. You liked that; I know you did. You told us to stop but you liked it.”

“Fo-ourteen!” One more. He can do this.

“You even came! Before either of us! You liked having Daddy’s fist in you, didn’t you? Tell me, sweetheart, you liked having Daddy’s fist and my cock filling you up, didn’t you?”

The final hit is harder than the rest, white-hot and excruciating, and Suga nearly screams, “Fifteen!”

“He asked you a question, kitten,” the man says, squeezing painfully. “Answer it, or it’s another five.”

Suga heaves in a breath, frantically blurts out, “Yes! Yes sir, I liked it!”

“Good boy!” the pretty man says, delighted, and Suga sobs, a fresh round of tears wetting his face.

He feels raw, everywhere. Everything between his knees and hips _hurts_ , his throat and jaw ache, and every time he swallows it tastes like the blood from his lip. His shoulders are pulled awkwardly with the way his hands are pinned beneath him, and he’s probably lost a few layers of skin from his wrists. The pain’s dulled his arousal but not entirely overwhelmed it, and his dick throbs against the man’s thigh. He shifts his hips, moans.

“Still want us to stop?” the man asks, the smirk clear in his voice.

“Please… please don’t hurt me anymore…”

“Keep doing as you’re told, and we won’t.”

They grab hold of him, move and position him where they want. Where they want is on the man’s lap, legs and arms hooked around him. The rough material of his jeans makes him wince, feels like friction burn on his tender skin. He can feel the pretty one at his back, and both sets of hands are warm and rough on his hips. Suga drops his head onto the man’s shoulder and says, voice low and wavering, “Y-You’re not… you’re not going to stop… are you?”

“We will, sweetheart,” the pretty man says. “When we’re ready.”

“Why would we want to stop now?” The other runs his hands up and down Suga’s sides. “You took that punishment so well, and you’re going to keep being good for us, right? Because you don’t want us to hurt you again.”

“Ple-ease.” Suga’s voice cracks. “I wanna stop...”

“But you’re enjoying yourself,” the pretty one says, and slides a hand forward to stroke his dick, once again hard and leaking. Suga cries out, his hips canting up of their own accord. The last time they touched him there feels like hours ago, like a different lifetime. “Why do you want to stop?”

“It hurts, sir,” Suga whimpers. “I-I’m tired, and it hurts…”

The other man nips at his throat, making him gasp, and says, “But we’re not satisfied. I knew from the moment I saw you, outside your apartment, that you’d be able to satisfy us. That’s why I chose you. You’re not going to disappoint me, are you? You’re not going to disappoint Daddy?”

Suga’s body shakes uncontrollably as he tries to hold back more sobs. The hand on his dick disappears, returns to his hips to help the man lift him, and he struggles faintly, only for all the breath to be knocked from him when he’s impaled on the man’s cock. He inhales deeply, eyes wide, and when he can speak again, the pleas fall from his sore lips in a rush, sobs no longer contained. “Please, stop, no more, I don't want anymore, wanna stop, no more, please, Daddy, I’m sorry, sir, please, stop…”

“You can beg all you want,” the pretty one says, holding him down on the other’s lap. “but it’s not going to change anything. We’re going to use you until we’re done. So just be good and quiet while we fuck you, okay? Don’t make Daddy have to hurt you again.”

“I-I'm sorry...”

Suga’s hips twitch, legs tightening around the man who’s sheathed inside him. The man squeezes his hips, rocks his pliant body back and forth. “So loose for Daddy,” he murmurs. “We should fill you up properly.”

Suga doesn’t know what he’s talking about, until slim, lubed fingers begin pressing insistently alongside the man’s dick. They slide in almost too easily, two of them, but the third requires some pressure that burns.

“ _Ah_!” Suga cries. “No, please!”

“What did I just say about being quiet?”

Another slim-fingered hand wraps around his neck, thumb and finger pressing into the sides of his throat and making Suga’s head spin. The man keeps rocking him, thumbs circling his hipbones as the pretty one chokes and stretches him.

It’s so, so, so _much_. He’s still sensitive from the first round; even just the slow tilt of his hips back and forth is sending his overstressed nervous system haywire. It hurts, it feels good, tingly, painful; he can’t sort and separate the feelings from each other. The fingers aren’t helping matters, and neither is the light-headedness he's being allowed to come down from with a slow release of the pressure on his throat. He thinks he might be crying again, but he’s honestly not sure. He’s not sure of anything – and when the unrelenting fingers rub firmly against his prostate, he must black out for a moment, because the next thing he’s aware of is that he’s slumped forward against the man’s body, the fingers are gone, and there’s a high-pitched, desperate keening echoing in his ears.

“If you don’t hurry up,” the man says, voice tight, “I’m going to fuck him myself and you can have him after.”

“That’s not fair,” the pretty one whines. “You already got to fuck him once. Why do you get to have him twice before me?”

“You got his throat. Don’t complain. Just hurry up.”

“He’s loose enough?”

“He can take it.” The man pushes Suga back up into a sitting position, and brushes the hair away from his sweaty forehead in an almost gentle gesture. “Can’t you, kitten?”

Suga mumbles an incoherent protest. He’s hazy, not really aware of what’s going on anymore. Nothing feels real anymore. He feels like a spectator in his own body – a body he’s suddenly crammed back into, hyperaware, when the pretty one crowds against his back and something bigger than fingers presses, demanding entrance.

“ _No!_ ” Suga shouts. He didn’t think he had much left in him, but a surge of strength overcomes him and he writhes, tears hot on his face. Hands grip tight at his hips and waist, hold him still as he twists and struggles.

“You want to be full, don’t you?” the pretty one pants as he pushes further, stretches him more than the fist did.

“Kitten likes being full,” the man agrees.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Suga moans, hiccups. “Pl-ease, I-I’ll do anything, _please_.”

“Be a good boy,” the pretty one says, “and be _quiet_.”

He shoves three fingers into Suga’s mouth, shoves them in deep. At the same time, he slides the last few inches home and Suga, muscles tense and strained, _wails_ around his hand.

Neither man moves for a few moments, breathing hard. Suga, trapped between them, screws his eyes shut and shudders on a noisy, choked sob.

“Fuck,” the pretty one groans. “He feels so good.”

The other swipes a hand across Suga's stomach, huffs out a laugh. “Just like I said. Kitten likes being full.”

The fingers down his throat are pulled away, and Suga opens his eyes just in time for them to be replaced by the other man's, sticky with something warm and thick.

“Oh,’ the pretty one breathes against the back of his neck. “He came again? And before us again too.”

Suga coughs around the persistent press of the man's fingers. He doesn’t even remember, he can't place the feeling of coming, but he does feel the soft way his body starts to relax, spent and heavy from a second orgasm, pleasure mingling with the ache and pressure of them inside him.

“Suck,” the man orders.

Suga does, weakly flattening his tongue and licking his own come from between the man's fingers. He sucks them clean, swallows, and when the man removes his fingers and demands to see, he lets his mouth fall open, sticking his tongue out for good measure.

The pretty man tilts his hips, Suga thinks by accident, but it makes his muscles seize up and he gasps.

“You’re lucky we’re being so kind to you,” the pretty man says. “Imagine if we wanted to punish you for coming before us? Imagine if we told you that you couldn’t come at all? Would you even be able to control yourself?”

He reaches around Suga, slides a hand over his inner thigh where he’s sensitive. “Remember we could be a lot meaner, sweetheart. We’re being so good to you, aren’t we?”

When Suga doesn’t respond, the other man pinches a nipple harshly, making him jolt and cry out in pain.

“He asked you a question.”

“I-I’m sorry…” Suga inhales shakily. “Yes. Y-You… you and Daddy are being good to me, sir… please don’t hurt me anymore…”

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” the pretty one soothes, and slides his fingers back into Suga’s mouth. “We’re going to fuck you.”

All his strength has gone now – Suga has nothing left to fight with, no way to stop himself from being slowly lifted in the man’s lap, and then dragged back down.

He’s so. _Fucking_. _Full_.

He’d talked about doing this with his boyfriends before, but they’d never actually attempted it. And now here he was, an overstimulated, crying mess, choking on fingers with two strangers’ cocks inside him.

And he _likes_ it.

It hurts, it’s a burn from the inside out, and fear has him almost trembling out of his skin. But the feeling of being filled, of having something jammed down his throat while two cocks shift inside him; he _likes_ it, and he knows he’s going to want it again.

“I’ll hold him,” the man pants. “You fuck him. We can’t both move.”

The pretty one doesn’t hesitate. He thrusts slowly as strong hands hold Suga’s hips in place. Suga chokes, twitching and shaking, but there’s nothing he can do. He can only hold on around the other man’s neck, wrists aching, as the pretty one picks up speed.

It feels weird – weird and painful and _good_. The pressure is enormous, and every thrust strikes his prostate a glancing blow that makes his cock jump, his belly tighten. He shouldn’t be able to come again, not so soon, but it really feels like he might. At least he can see this orgasm coming, can use the sparks of pleasure as a focus to stop himself from tearing apart at the seams.

“Fuck, he’s… it’s so fucking tight,” the pretty one says, almost disbelieving.

“Come on,” the other man says, voice low and rough and taut. “Break him.”

Suga’s eyes widen, but all he can do is cry out around the fingers down his throat as the pretty man snaps his hips, fucks him harder. It hurts, a good hurt and a bad hurt, but it only takes a few thrusts before he’s coming, the sensation making Suga’s hips kick up uncontrollably once, twice. Almost immediately, the hands gripping him lift him up and then _slam_ him back down. Suga screams, muffled a little by the intrusion between his teeth. It _hurts_. The pain, but pleasure too, rides up his spine, roils in his belly as the man doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until he swears, grinds into him, and comes.

It’s like a rubber band, stretched beyond its limits. Something inside Suga snaps – he screams again, back arching, and he’s dimly aware of maybe coming again.

After that, nothing.

* * *

“Seriously, I appreciate the gesture,” Daichi says, “but you really don’t have to walk me to my door.”

Kuroo laughs, shoves his hands into his pockets. “There are all sorts of unsavoury characters around these parts, Dai. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you wander around on your own?”

Daichi rolls his eyes. Kuroo had shown up at his workplace towards the end of his shift, ostensibly just dropping by to say hello, even though Daichi knew it was because he was bored and wanted some attention. After he’d clocked off – early, due to a schedule change no one had informed him about – Daichi had intended upon going home to pass out. Presuming, of course, that Suga and his boyfriends weren’t still up to whatever it is they’d been up to. Iwaizumi had texted him early in the morning to check his plans and make sure he wasn’t going to be home.

Daichi didn’t ask, and didn’t want to know.

But of course, Kuroo, being bored, had insisted on annoying him, and so Daichi had compromised. They’d gone on a quick sushi run, and he’d allowed Kuroo to ‘escort’ him home, as the man in question had put it. Kuroo, ever the valiant defender of his boyfriend’s virtue.

He loves the stupid bastard.

He’s just about to tell him he’s the idiotic kind of boyfriend when a muffled scream echoes down the hallway.

They both freeze. Daichi glances at Kuroo – Kuroo looks back at him, the grin falling from his face. There are only two occupied apartments on this floor. The people who rent the other are rarely ever home, either working long hours or spending nights out clubbing and partying. Besides, even if he’s never heard him scream before, Daichi could recognise Suga’s voice anywhere.

Another scream makes Daichi jump. Heart racing, he bolts for his apartment, yanking his keys out of his pocket. Kuroo’s hot on his heels and already has his phone out as Daichi jams the key in the lock and bursts through the door.

“Suga?” he shouts.

Nothing looks out of the ordinary – everything is just as neat and orderly as when he left in the morning, other than a dented package sitting on the couch that wasn’t there before. He steps forward, ready to search the apartment, when he hears a door open, close, and the sound of stumbling footsteps. From around the corner comes Oikawa, looking absolutely ragged – his hair’s a mess, his face is flushed and sweaty, he’s breathing hard, and he’s hurriedly zipping up his pants.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“Hey,” Oikawa says, his smile tired. “We weren’t expecting you back for like, another hour at least.”

It’s not hard to hear the stress in his voice. Daichi bites his lip.

“I thought I finished at six, but the schedule got changed and no one told me, so I actually finished earlier. Sorry.”

Behind him, Kuroo says uncertainly, “We heard…”

“Everything’s fine!” Oikawa interrupts quickly, staring at them pointedly. “We would appreciate it if you could… not be here right now, though.”

Daichi runs a hand through his hair, smiles awkwardly. “Yeah, of course…” He backs up, elbowing Kuroo sharply enough to make him stagger back into the hallway. Just before he closes the door, he pauses and asks, “Suga’s okay, yeah? Because that was… something.”

Oikawa’s laugh is strained, and he scrubs both hands over his face. “Yeah, it really was, wasn’t it?” Then he exhales, calms himself, and says more firmly. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s going to be fine. When he wakes up.”

Daichi doesn’t want to know.

He shuts the door, retrieves his keys, and is halfway back to the elevator by the time Kuroo catches up to him, tripping over his own feet.

“What the fuck did they do to him?” he wonders aloud.

Daichi hits the button and the doors open almost immediately. They both pile in and as it heads to the ground floor, Daichi sighs and says, “I don’t know. But I do know I’m staying at yours tonight.”

* * *

The first thing that Suga’s aware of is that someone’s calling his name.

“Koushi? Koushi, come back to me, baby.”

Slowly, with great effort, he blinks his eyes open. He feels floaty, untethered, and his vision is a little blurred around the edges, but he can make out a boxy figure above him that’s talking to him softly. For a split-second he panics – the intruders are still here, they haven’t finished with him yet. But it’s swept away when he remembers.

“…’jime?” he mumbles.

“Hey.” He can hear the pleased smile in his voice.

Suga blinks again, and his vision starts to clear – as do his thoughts. They’re still jumbled, messy and misted over, but he can recognise small things – he’s laying on his back on something supremely comfortable, his body aches, and Iwaizumi is kneeling over him and petting his face lightly.

“You feeling okay?”

The idea of forming proper words sounds hard, so he just nods.

“That’s good, baby,” Iwaizumi praises. “Tooru’s gonna be right back with some water. Do you think you can sit up on your own, or do you need help?”

Suga just shakes his head slowly as an answer, and Iwaizumi understands. He hooks his arms under his body and hauls him upright – gently, so gently, hands warm and supportive on his back. Suga’s arms fall over the other’s shoulders and he slumps against him. Iwaizumi slides one hand up into his hair, the pads of his fingers rubbing delicate circles.

Suga hears the door open, but doesn’t have the energy to look up. The bed dips, Iwaizumi eases him off his shoulder, and he’s turned slightly to face Oikawa.

“…T’ru?”

“Kou-chan,” Oikawa smiles, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Can you drink some of this for me?”

Suga contemplates the process, and shakes his head. He collapses back onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

Iwaizumi starts massaging his scalp again, and says quietly, “It’s okay. Take your time.”

He feels Oikawa’s hand on his lower back, resting for a moment before he rubs comfortingly. It’s nice. The hand in his hair is nice. The arms under his, keeping him up, feel nice. He sighs.

He’s not sure how long they sit there, but he doesn’t think it’s more than a few minutes before he’s feeling a little more pulled together. Iwaizumi helps him sit up, and Suga goes to take the water bottle from Oikawa before realising his hands are shaking too much to properly hold it.

“I’ve got you,” Oikawa says, and holds the water bottle to his lips.

The water is cool and refreshing and wakes him up a little more. When he’s had a few mouthfuls and Oikawa’s lowered the bottle, Suga glances between his boyfriends and asks, stumbling over his words, the only real coherent thought that’s in his head.

“A-Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. Oikawa and Iwaizumi look at each other, and then back at him. Iwaizumi cups his cheek with one hand and for a moment, Suga’s afraid that maybe they’re not okay, maybe they didn’t enjoy what just happened and it’s all his fault – before he realises Iwaizumi’s smiling.

“Can I kiss you?”

Suga nods. It’s soft, short, and then Iwaizumi says, “We’re fine, Koushi. Are you?”

“I… yeah, I…” He trails off, unsure. He _is_ okay, he thinks, but there’s also a lot he wants to say. He’s just not sure how to get the words out. Iwaizumi rubs his thumb over Suga’s cheek and says, “We’ll talk about it properly in a bit, okay? But we still need to get you cleaned up and warm, and you need to eat.”

“Hand him over,” Oikawa says. “I’ll get him in the shower, you find him some clothes and order food.” Then, to Suga, he adds, “Does that sound good?”

Suga nods, a little overwhelmed. It sounds like a lot, and all he wants to do is curl up with his boyfriends and rest. But he knows they can do that once everything else has been dealt with, and as long as he’s with at least one of them, and knows where the other one is, he’ll be okay.

Oikawa scoops him out of Iwaizumi’s arms. Suga insists on walking to the bathroom, even though he needs to lean on Oikawa the whole way. Once they’re in the bathroom, Oikawa sets him down on the closed lid of the toilet so he can get the shower to temperature. Suga wishes the apartment had a bathtub – he’d _kill_ to be able to just lay back and soak for a while – but it doesn’t, so he has to make do with sitting on the floor of the shower, leaning back against Oikawa’s chest as he carefully cleans him off. Oikawa spends a little extra time washing Suga’s hair, singing absently and out of tune, and it’s completely worth the persistent pain in his ass and thighs from the uncomfortable floor.

Getting dry and dressed is a little more of an ordeal, involving muscles he didn’t even realise were sore, but eventually Oikawa walks him out to the living room where Iwaizumi is sitting on the couch, focused on his phone. He looks up as they enter and Suga, warm and comfortable in sweatpants and one of Iwaizumi’s stretched-out hoodies, collapses on the couch next to him. He lays on his back, puts his head in Iwaizumi’s lap, and lets Oikawa move his legs so he can sit with them in his own lap.

“I got you your favourite from that Western barbecue place,” Iwaizumi says, resting a hand on Suga’s chest. “That okay?”

Suga nods. He’s grateful Iwaizumi hadn’t asked him to make the decision himself, considering he hadn’t exactly been in the frame of mind to do so at the time. He reaches out and takes Oikawa’s hand in his own – Oikawa squeezes, and Suga sighs.

Everything is good.

“Should we talk now?” Iwaizumi asks. “Or do you want to wait a bit longer, ‘til after we’ve eaten?”

Suga clears his throat, and he winces when it hurts.

“We can talk now,” he says quietly.

Iwaizumi cups his jaw, swipes his thumb feather-light over the split in his bottom lip. “Good, because I want to apologise. I didn’t mean to hit you as hard as I did.”

Suga smiles tiredly, presses Iwaizumi’s hand to his lips and kisses. “And I’m sorry for kneeing you in the face. That was an accident. But you don’t need to apologise, it’s okay. It was good – I liked it.”

“Such a masochist, Kou-chan,” Oikawa quips.

“You say that like we all didn’t know,” Suga points out. “I literally asked you guys to hurt me.”

“Still.” Iwaizumi shifts uncomfortably. “I drew blood, and your face is probably going to bruise. Obviously, I went into this prepared to hurt you, but not like that.”

“Hajime,” Suga says. He kisses each of his knuckles as he speaks, and they drag over the split in a gut-twistingly nice way. “I accept your apology, even though it’s unnecessary. I promise, it’s okay.”

“I know Iwa-chan is all sad about slapping our dear little Kou-chan,” Oikawa interjects. “But _I_ want to talk about _sir_.”

The blush that rises in Suga’s cheeks is instantaneous. “I-I don’t know where that came from, honestly. Did you actually like it?”

“Of course,” Oikawa says, and naturally he’s not in the least bit embarrassed by it. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, only to be smacked on the shoulder as Oikawa laughs, “You have a daddy kink, Iwa-chan, you don’t get to roll your eyes.”

“I do –!” Iwaizumi starts to protest, but the ‘not’ dies before it escapes, trapped behind gritted, grinding teeth. Oikawa and Suga giggle, bursting into laughter when Iwaizumi scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, as if in pain, “Fuck, I do.”

When they calm down, Suga says, still smiling, “Thank you for checking in. It was nice that you related it the scene too.”

“I was starting to get worried,” Iwaizumi admits. “You seemed kind of out of it.”

“I mean,” Suga nuzzles against Iwaizumi’s stomach, “you’d just put your entire fist in my ass and then both fucked me stupid. It was a lot to process.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to know what we were going to do,” Oikawa says. “But we sprung a lot on you. It was all okay?”

Suga nods. “I liked it. I really liked it.” The blush returns full-force, and he buries his face in Iwaizumi’s lap. Oikawa and Iwaizumi laugh, the latter coaxing him back out to look at him.

“I’ve never seen you come as fast as you did when I got it in you.” He’s blushing a little himself, which makes Suga feel a little better. They’re all adults, they can talk about this, and it’s not embarrassing per se, but there’s always going to be something a little weird about just sitting on the couch talking about fisting like they’re talking about the weather.

“I didn’t even realise I was going to. It just kind of… happened.”

“Did you know you came the second time? Because you looked so confused when I made you suck on my fingers.”

Suga bites his lip as Oikawa snorts. “No,” he answers. Then, after a pause, adds, “Did I actually come again after that? I kinda remember, but I… I think I blacked out.”

“No shit,” Oikawa says with a smirk. “Yeah, you did. Basically dry, too. It was…” He stops for a moment, suddenly serious, concern creasing his brow. “Is it bad that I thought it was _really_ fucking hot? I-I’ve never seen you so fucked up before. You were a mess at the end, and I just… you looked so _good_ , Koushi.”

“Tooru.” Suga sits up – it’s a struggle to push himself up with weak arms, and his ass and thighs hurt when he moves, but he does it anyway, and kisses him. Oikawa kisses him back eagerly, opens his mouth to him, curls a hand around the back of his head. When they break apart, there’s a single line of spit still connecting them until it snaps, and Oikawa wipes it away.

“I’m _glad_ you like it. I don’t want you to do that kind of stuff to me if you’re not into it. In fact, you…” He swallows, smiles nervously. “You could have gone harder.”

It occurs to him after a moment that his statement could be misconstrued; his eyes widen and he says quickly, “It was perfect! It was honestly so perfect, it was amazing.” He looks between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “Thank you, for indulging me. I-I’m just saying that if you’d gone harder, and been meaner, it would still have been perfect. It wouldn’t have been too much.”

Iwaizumi smiles, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oikawa buries his face in Suga’s shoulder and lays a few kisses on his neck.

“We’ll keep it in mind, sweetheart,” Oikawa says, and Suga can feel his wicked smirk against his skin. But two can play at that game, and he waits until his boyfriend has raised his head to look at him again before leaning forward and nipping at his lips.

“I hope you will, sir,” he murmurs, and then pulls back to laugh at Oikawa’s sudden flush and strangled sound of surprise.

The ding of a phone notification distracts them.

“Food’s almost here,” Iwaizumi says.

“I think you should go get it,” Oikawa says. “Seeing as I’m currently trapped under sweet little Kou-chan.”

“And I think you’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi retorts, even as he stands up.

Nestled against Oikawa’s shoulder, Suga pipes up, “You shouldn’t be so mean to him, Daddy.”

Neither of them miss the fact that Iwaizumi is red up to the tips of his ears. Suga snorts, but Oikawa doesn’t get the chance to react before Iwaizumi grabs him by the chin and, standing over him, says in a low voice, “He likes it when I’m mean to him. Don’t you, you whore?”

Oikawa squeaks, eyes wide. Iwaizumi smiles – first, dangerously, like he might just forgo the food in order to drag Oikawa off the couch and teach him a lesson in respect. And then it breaks into something more teasing, and he ruffles Oikawa’s hair before heading to the door, leaving him red-faced and Suga giggling.

Later, after they’ve all eaten and Suga is sated in all the ways that matter, he lets Iwaizumi carry him to his freshly-made bed, and he lets them sandwich him between them as they curl up to sleep – even though he knows Oikawa prefers to be the little spoon, and Iwaizumi is going to grumble in the morning because the bed is too soft and he never sleeps well on it. He lets them because he knows they want to take care of him. He knows it took a lot out of them to hurt him the way they did, to break him apart so thoroughly. They want to envelop him, protect him, and build him all the way back up.

He’s never felt so whole.

**Author's Note:**

> if u know me, no u don't


End file.
